


nothing burns like the cold

by WhimperSoldier



Series: under the small fire of winter stars [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi, The North is magic, northern independence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimperSoldier/pseuds/WhimperSoldier
Summary: For the first time in this conquest, Aegon had miscalculated. One sister was wild with rage at the injuring of her dragon, the other was helpless asleep her saddle. His dragons, once his biggest support, had become a hindrance to his plans.





	nothing burns like the cold

**Author's Note:**

> Kept waiting to see someone write this but since I can't find anything, I had to write it myself. Thinking of making it a series that jumps around the timeline to see the ripples. Comment on any ideas you might think of.

Aegon could feel his fingers freezing this high up. Even Balerion shuttered in the harsh winds, the thick chunks of snow smacking the thin membranes of his wings and causing the great dragon to fly off kilter. Off to his right a flash of lightning sent Rhaenys careening to the left to avoid it.

He thought about the warning given by the men in the Riverlands, the Lords in the Erie, the smallfolk who whispered more about the monsters in the mists than the conqueror with dragons. Of the King in the North whose name was Stark and who had never been seen before.

The North was a mystery to the rest of Westeros. A land that was inhabited by vile creatures and magic, it was said to house the children of the first men who were deformed and misshapen due to the cold and the layers of pelts they would wear. The North was also the second to last kingdom left to fall to him.

He could feel the pounding of his sister’s dragon’s wings to his sides. They had rarely all visited a ruling house together but with the constant storm that raged along the border to the far north finally calming in the summer, they had marched their armies as far into the storm as they could before being turned away by the marshy bog and the sleet that fell in sheets upon their heads. They would have to continue alone and on dragonback.

They had been flying for what seemed to be hours. The muscles of his thighs were tight with wear and his hair was covered in small crystals of ice.

He was about to turn back, for surely no one could live in such constant weather, when the storm cleared. Balerion’s screech echoed across the empty stretch of forests. Aegon leaned back, tugging the fur-lined wrap from around his mouth and breathing in the warm air of summer. 

Looking back, he could see the lightning streaking through the storm only miles behind them but in front, a bountiful land in the hold of spring. Over the slight breeze, he could hear Rhaenys cry out in joy and surprise.

What sort of magic might have created such a storm? Aegon thought back to the stories told in the citadel library, of childen of the forest who were able to sink the arm of Dorne. Might old magic hold a hand in the mists surrounding the North? He looked as far as his eye could see but only saw trees interspersed with streams and rivers. He gestured to his sisters to fly lower, to see if anything stirred in the forest.

The maesters said the first men once called this place home, Aegon thought, would it be so strange if they still did?

Visenya motioned to him out of the corner of his eye, a warning. Even he could feel the prickle of something unnatural along his spine. Balerion could too, it seemed, with his scales rippling in apprehension. 

He had grown up on tales of old Valyria, it’s unparalleled splendor created by magic and dragon fire. They seemed like far off stories at the time, tales used to frighten he and his sisters from wandering around the castle at night. Aegon wondered if his grandmother might have a story to explain the ball of dread pooling in his stomach.

Lord Tully had told Aegon a story told to him by his father, and his father before him, about the family that ruled over these lands. He was an old man, senile his son said, but he had looked so sure when he’d held Aegon’s hand, spouting off nonsense about forest children and brokered deals and dead men. Lord Tully’s daughter had gently taken her father back to his room, leaving Aegon to feel as if the man might have been on to something.

Rhaenys swooped in close, Meraxes’ wings clipping Balerion in a friendly brush of affection. Aegon wanted her back, to watch his flank if anything were to come for them. Their dragons were their greatest asset but a single arrow would be enough to take his beautiful sister down. 

Visenya thought the same, diving lower to try and push Vhagar between her sibling’s dragons. She shifted in her saddle, urging Vhagar higher. He resisted, slipping lower so his underbelly skimmed the treetops. She yelled in Valyrian, tugging upwards and receiving only a panicked cry that sent his rider checking the horizon. What could startle a dragon?

Aegon veered left and down, his heart pounding painfully under his chainmail. Rhaenys glided yards above them, ignoring their calls and the chirps of her dragon. He made to turn back, to abandon this fool’s quest until better information could be found. They would scoure the Citadel's library until they found every book relating to the North and whatever magic was strong enough to make dragons shake.

All three rose high before making to swing back around. It was as they made to turn that the spires of a castle rose out of the trees. It’s grey walls were lined with trees as white as bone with leaves as red as blood. Aegon felt only confusion as he was in freefall, waiting for Balerion to open his wings and use the wind to turn himself, watching a huge creature slip from sight between the trees before vanishing-

Meraxes screams.

Dragon and rider slip from the sky and Aegon can feel his heart stop. He reacts instinctively, Balerion diving low so quickly that he can feel the blood rush to his head and his vision becomes spotty.

Talons sink into dragon flesh and this close, Aegon can hear the panicked screams of his wife. She was tied to the saddle, pulling on the bolt stuck in her dragon’s chest as blood covered her arms and flowed down to cover the once rich silk of her skirts. They spiraled to the earth, trees rushing up to meet them as the frantic beats of Balerion’s wings echoed in the pounding of Vhagar’s. They slowed the fall but all three crashed with a sickening thump into the ground.

Aegon could feel his head bleeding. The tang of iron was on his tongue and his left hand was limp where it had been crushed under the sprawled wing of Meraxes. He called out for his sisters, his voice hoarse and rattling around in his chest. His heart stopped when a bloody and crying Rhaenys crawled over Balerion’s gently rising chest, a large arrow in her hands, as pale as bone and covered in dragon viscera. Her face twisted in anger, her full lips pulled back from her teeth and she looked so like their other sister that Aegon called Visenya’s name to see if she might see it too.

Instead, Vhagar screeched, rising up to avoid the thick nets thrown over his back. Aegon spotted the limp body strapped to their back, Dark Sister strapped to her thigh. He made to move, ignoring the screaming of his arm, but a net was thrown over them all, a thick weave that felt to be made from steel. He called for Balerion, his connection to his dragon roaring to life like fire in his veins, echoing his dragon, spewing dragonfire through the nets. The trees surrounding them caught ablaze sending plumes of smoke into the sky but the cables creating the nets stayed firm, growing a blazing red before cooling.

Aegon watched in horror as giants walked out from the forests, their bodies towering even the largest trees. They had bows, wickedly curved and made of the same white wood as the bolt Rhaenys was screaming about. Soundless, they grabbed the nets and pulled, a hundred strong, dragging dragons like one might sheep.

What twisted world had they fallen into? Aegon reached for his wife, tucking her sobbing form into his chest and watching as the towers of the castle came into view, ignoring how his dragons struggling had weakened them to the point of silence.

As they drew closer, the thick oaks gave way to the white hulking monstrosities. Their roots were twisted and deformed, shooing up and out before burying into the earth. Rhaenys gasped, pointing to one, it’s bark carved away to show a grotesque face leaking red sap.

It was not a grand castle, sturdy and made of thick stone, but it’s walls were tall and runes seemed to snake their way up the stone to the guards who watched with open mouths. This felt familiar, the awe in eyes as his dragons were shown, not the shame of being dropped before the walls like runaway vassels.

The solid wood doors, bloody pale like the trees now surrounding them, were carved with pictures and symbols, all blood red. They opened with a great sigh, Aegon moving to sit up to meet whomever thought to rule such strange land. He was to be king of these squabbling kingdoms, he knew from the moment the carvers had finished the map table on Dragonstone, every player placed on the board like a game to be played. 

For the first time in this conquest, Aegon had miscalculated. One sister was wild with rage at the injuring of her dragon, the other was helpless asleep her saddle. His dragons, once his biggest support, had become a hindrance to his plans.

This King in the North was a tall man and as broad as the trees he was surrounded by. What Aegon took to be advisors flanked him, all carrying weapons. He straightened. It seemed as if the forest itself was quiet, as if waiting to hear what words might be spoken.

“I am Aegon-”

“Targaryen. Yes dragonrider, we know who you are,” A child said, tucked unobtrusively next to what had to be a Stark. Her face was sweet and round, cheeks red from the slight chill in the air. The king, looking down to her, nodded once and stepped forward.

“You may enter my home as guests to discuss the terms of your surrender. Once our talks have concluded, you will leave the North,” The king said, voice echoing throughout the forest. The nets were dragged away, the misshapen giants folding the material into small squares they stored on their back. All turned to return inside the castle, leaving their backs open to attack.

Rhaenys made to call for her dragon, her anger flaming through her like fire, licking up her fingers and coiling around her heart. Her feet slid on blood and dragon scales and as she reached out to steady herself, she saw they had become surrounded.

Cloudy-headed Visenya called out a warning to them, slowly untying herself from her saddle and falling inward to the ground to avoid the growling wolves circling them. Aegon watched as three separated from the pack, their large size showing how the muscles rippled as they walked. Direwolves, as monstrous and wild as these Northerners.

Having nowhere to go but in, the conquerors entered the stronghold to silent stares.

The washerwomen stopped their loads, the hammer and anvil went un-hit, servants leaned over railings to watch them pass. Aegon tucked his arm next to his chest, hoping to avoid a fight if at all possible. Visenya was hiding a limp, instead pulling Dark Sister closer to her.

Many lords had scoffed at her for her sword. It had been a mistake, her cleverness was just as sharp as her sword and she knew how to use both. Here, though, it seemed the women had not been told what the rest of Westeros thought about a woman’s place seeing as many had swords and a towering few had large battle axes attached to their backs.

They were led into a council chamber, scarcely decorated but blessedly warm. A large fire flickered in a towering hearth and the cooking of broth made the whole chamber smell of meat. The king sat on no throne, instead choosing a chair on a raised dias and inclining his head to the child who took one of the two remaining chairs. Just as Aegon felt his patients come to an end, the doors were thrown open and another child walked in, dressed in little more than leaves.

But no, he noted, this was no child. She, or what he thought might be a she, was wrapped in vines, small flowers were interwoven in the bark crawling its way up her neck. She took the a remaining seat on the dias, the worn wood of the chair warming, as if aged backwards. The final chair, a twisted mass of what looked to be roots sat empty. _Fit for a giant, _his sister whispered in awe, the grip on Dark Sister lessening slightly. Aegon felt distinctly off balanced but reoriented himself. He was the blood of old Valyria, his was the blood of magic too.__

__“You know of why I have come?” He asked, foregoing any courtesy. The little girl smiled, her eyes so pale they looked almost white. She spoke up._ _

__“I have seen your conquests, and what shall become of them.” She sighed, running a finger across the groves in her arm rests. “A kingdom that is not yet a kingdom. A throne not yet built. And death and death and death.”_ _

__“That is what becomes in war,” He said, looking back to his sisters. Visenya just nodded, holding their youngest by her arm so that she would not run forward. Rhaenys’ nails were encrusted in blood. “Lives must be lost before lives can be saved.”_ _

__“So says a conqueror,” The King in the North said, leaning his head down onto his fist. He watched Aegon with a keen eye. “Your battles mean nothing to the North.”_ _

__“Enough of this,” Visenya called, her voice echoing over the others. The King raised a single eyebrow and gave his whole face the impression of amusement. “How could you know of anything? We see the future of this realm, the good we can do, and you see nothing but swamps and mythical creatures.”_ _

__“It has been seen,” The girl said, smiling. “You burning men in their metal suits. The screaming of lords boiled in their castles. I was there you see, when Harrenhal was burned. I watched from the God’s Eye as the people screamed and your dragon brought down a rain of fire.”_ _

__Aegon went silent. He had seen the small island during the battle but had not thought about it at the time. His anger was rising slowly, the way a pot boils over. He could see his sentiments being echoed in his sisters._ _

__“We mean you no harm if the same can be said of you,” The little woman asked, her leaves blowing gently in a breeze none of them could feel. “A long night is coming and we need flaming swords in the darkness.”_ _

__Aegon felt his anger snap._ _

__“I have no use of your prophecies and hoodoo, fair folk!” He hissed, blood pounding loudly behind his ears. “We will bring the realm together! Forge a better life for our children, and our children’s children!”_ _

__“And how long will that last?” The King in the North questioned, standing up. He was not an overly tall man, but with the crown of swords, he looked as imposing as Aegon thought himself to be. “How long before your ancestors fall into chaos and greed, pulling the whole of Westeros with them?”_ _

__“I will-”_ _

__“You will do nothing.” The girl said, her face too solemn for one so young. “You will be dead and they will have dragons.” Here she smiled, enigmatic and sly. “And who fights a dragon?”_ _

__“Know this, if you do not surrender, we will return, thousands strong to burn you out of your keeps and salt the earth where you once stood!” Rhaenys screeched, hair wild around her delicate face. Visenya shook her to keep her quiet but it was too late, the King moved forward, moving past Aegon to stand before his sisters. It was only Visenya’s nod and hand on her sword that stilled him. Rhaenys seemed to enjoy the attention. “You know nothing of our might, and it will be the death of your house!”_ _

__“Death will come, your grace, but it will not be my house facing extinction.” He said, walking past her to the large council doors which opened at the wave of his hand. As they all made to move back out to the courtyard, the King turned, as if he had simply forgotten something. “Oh, and do watch for stray arrow. One never knows when they might strike true.”_ _

__And with that, the King in the North released them, sent them South with the threat of war hanging over their heads like a butcher’s axe. His sisters were deathly silent to his flanks._ _

__They crossed the barrier from the North to the Neck with little trouble, landing with little fuss admis their camp. His hand raced forward, dressed in mail._ _

__“Where in gods name have you been?” Baratheon asked, face scrunched up in fury. He took in the blood on Visenya and Rhaenys and stilled, looking him over before grabbing his arm to steady him._ _

__“We leave at dawn,” Aegon commanded, moving shakily forward to find his command tent. “Gather the men and see it done.”_ _

__“I thought the North was to be next?” He laughed. “What? Frog-Eaters and wildlings give you too much trouble?”_ _

__“Quiet!” Aegon screamed. His hand startled. “We speak of the North no more! We move South!”_ _

__Aegon the Conqueror marched away. If the North would not bow, they would bend, or risk being broken. As his little sister was so fond of saying, to bend the knee is not the only way to make peace. He smiled keenly and made to enter his tent and sleep. He would regain momentum in the South and then return once he learned more of the North and it’s customs. Another defeat would cement him for a longer siege with more men. An easy victory, he thought._ _

__After all, what are Dornish arrows compared to a dragon’s breath?_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at Whimper-Soldier


End file.
